Miracles
by Laura Saliers
Summary: "...miracles aren't to be understood, or explained. Miracles are to rejoice over, to embrace, to be grateful for..."


From: SaliersL@Eudoramail.com  
  
Subject: New; "Miracles" by Laura Saliers  
  
Category: MSR  
  
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, angst  
  
Rating: NC-17, though not until part 2  
  
Spoilers: Hmm. Well, general for seasons 8 and 9--I took into account some of the events, though most of it happens my own way, on my own timeline. Basically, this is because I haven't seen all of the episodes.  
  
Summary: ..."miracles aren't to be understood, or explained. Miracles are to rejoice over, to embrace, to be grateful for..."  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be--but I do own the playground. Is it my fault they wanted to come and play?  
  
Archive: Just let me know!  
  
Author's Notes: This started out as a sequel, actually, but I didn't get around to finishing the first part, so it became a story all it's own. I'm referencing events, but using my own take on them, mainly because the television stations here in Korea keep billing season 8 episodes as "a brand-new X-Files episode." Many thanks go out to my aunt, who supplies me with season 9 eps now and then!  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!!!! Does that count as begging? Do you need me to beg? Let me know how I'm doing--I'll even read the flames! Anything remotely positive will be printed out and used to wallpaper my room!  
  
Additional notes: Now that you've had time to read the spoilers, and have obviously not left yet, this starts off with Scully finding out she's pregnant, though Mulder is already gone. This assumes that they did have a sexual relationship before he was abducted (feedback just might get you that story!), continues after he is returned.  
  
********************  
  
Miracles  
  
Laura Saliers  
  
saliersl@eudoramail.com  
  
********************  
  
The shock, the joy, the disbelief I felt that afternoon had me reeling for days. I told no one, not sure what I would say not wanting to vocalize my exciting news for fear speaking of it would somehow make this less true.  
  
It was a stomach flu, I told myself for over a week. I even believed it myself, for a little while.   
  
I justified every minute symptom I amassed, even as I strapped a tourniquet around my own arm. I hoped for the impossible as I cleaned the skin of my inner elbow with a small alcohol pad, then slid a needle into the vein, a slightly raised blue line under my skin. I prayed for the unbelievable as I watched blood fill the tube attached to the needle. These were the thoughts I tried to squash as I set the tube aside, released the tourniquet, and pulled the needle from my arm. I pressed a square of guaze over the puncture site, chiding myself for my ridiculous actions, for having suspicions I couldn't alleviate any other way.   
  
I still doubted myself, remembering everything anyone had said regarding my inability to bear children. Their voices were running through my head with startling clarity as I ran the machine that would shortly produce a result I was certain I already knew.  
  
And then those startling results spewed from the printer. POSITIVE. The capital letters, of a size and font I was used to seeing, seemed too large, seemed foreign, and I wondered if I misunderstood them. I looked down at the machine, checking everything again. My blood, the tube I just drew. The right test, the right setting. And all on a machine that I had cleaned and calibrated myself just that morning.   
  
It couldn't be a mistake. But it couldn't NOT be a mistake. How could it be right when it went against everything I was trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to accept?   
  
I stared at the paper printout, and knew, even though I didn't fully believe it, that it was true.   
  
It took a few days for the shock to wear off, for the truth to sink in. I hadn't told anyone yet; I didn't know who to tell, or how. If Mulder were here, he, of course, would be the first I told, but there was no guarantee I would ever see him again.   
  
That thought, as usual, brought tears to my eyes, and made breathing difficult. I blinked quickly to fight back the tears.   
  
I supposed I should tell Skinner, and eventually I would, but I still didn't know quite how. And I wanted to tell my mom, couldn't wait for her to know. But I wasn't quite sure how to do that, either. I had to figure out how to tell her that all of her suspicions about Mulder and I finally were correct, and that he was now going to be the father of my child. That she was going to be a grandmother,   
  
From the first she heard of him, she was convinced he was the one for me. And she would no doubt remind me that I didn't listen to her, and that she had been right. And I wished I had listened. Maybe then it wouldn't have taken me so long to make my move.  
  
But like all good things, it was well worth the wait. He became my best friend long before romance entered the picture. It was that long courtship, a period we never realized was courtship, which built a foundation for something I somehow knew would last.  
  
I knew I loved him long before I ever said anything. I knew he felt the same, but for the longest time, I didn't know what to do about it. I had no idea if he had any desire to act on his feelings, or if he was content to hide them forever.   
  
I hid my own feelings for a long time. I wasn't happy about it as time went on, but I was afraid to change the way things were between us. I was afraid that if I were to ask for more, I would lose what I already had.   
  
It got to be almost more than I could bear, though. The looks, the touches, all hinted at the presence of something more, something I think we both feared on some level.   
  
Love has always been thought to have power, to be a mystery no one can solve alone. It was more dangerous for us, though. We both knew it was one more tool that could be used against us, and we feared giving Them such a powerful key to our souls.   
  
Then there was the obstacle of trust. It was a bridge, and a shaky bridge at that, we both had to cross. We had had loved ones taken from us, had uncovered conspiracies that reached high enough it was hard to know who we could trust. And we were aware that love was a huge form of trust, a vulnerability neither of us could easily accept.  
  
So for the longest time, we hid what we felt. We hid the brightest part of our souls from each other, showing only the faintest glimmer of that brightness toward each other, though we tried to hide even that. It took awhile before we found that light would not be hidden, couldn't be smothered, and had to be acknowledged lest it one day destroy us.   
  
And I somehow knew that even such a beautiful thing could potentially destroy us. Because even though we kept each other's best interest in mind, protected each other fiercely, we had noticed that we took that perhaps too far. What should have made us more open, instead had us keeping things from each other--for protection and safety, of course--but they were secrets nonetheless.   
  
But my pregnancy was a secret I longed to share with him, one I could never keep from him. I was certain he would be as floored by the news as I was. He, for all his belief in the unbelievable, would find this perhaps more impossible than I did.   
  
After all, he didn't have the physical symptoms I had to help convince me, but he did have the debilitating belief that he didn't deserve to be happy. He wanted this so badly, and the simple fact that it was something he wanted, made it harder to believe it would be possible.   
  
But it was true, and I so badly wanted to tell him. And I couldn't. I still had faith that one day, I would be able to. It was what kept me going--the certainty I would be able to share this with him, the knowledge that I would someday find him. I had to. I didn't have a choice.   
  
**************************************  
  
Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. Nausea had me up and in the bathroom long before I wanted to get up. Morning sickness was foreign to me, and I found it while I found it incredibly annoying, I couldn't help almost enjoying it, knowing what it meant, what it represented. It usually passed by lunchtime, but I wasn't particularly happy in the interim.   
  
I showered and dressed, then fixed the dry toast that had been my staple breakfast for more than a week now.   
  
I was heading over to my mother's today; I was eight and a half weeks along now, and I felt it was just about time I told her. During the long drive there I tired to formulate how I would say this, but by the time I pulled into her driveway a few hours later, I still didn't know how to tell her.   
  
I knocked on the door, then let myself in with my key. "Mom, I'm home," I called. No matter how old I got, no matter where I lived, home would still be my mother's house.  
  
"In the kitchen, dear," she called.  
  
The smell of fresh-baked muffins filled my nostrils, and though her blueberry muffins were usually my favorite, today they only made my stomach perform uncomfortable somersaults.  
  
I walked into the kitchen to find mom standing at the counter, a flour-covered apron protecting her navy pants suit. I put my arm around her shoulders, kissed her cheek. "Hi, mom," I said.  
  
"Have a seat at the table," she told me. "I'll get you a muffin."  
  
"No thanks," I said, walking over to the kitchen table and hanging my jacket on the back of one of the chairs there.   
  
"Dana, they're your favorite," she said, surprised. "You haven't refused my muffins since you were little!"  
  
"I'm just a little queasy," I said, sitting down. If I knew her as well as I thought I did, this might be easier than I thought.   
  
True to motherly form, she came over and placed the back of her hand on my forehead. "No fever," she muttered.   
  
I gave her my best "I'm a doctor, I can handle it," look, which made her laugh as she sat across the table from me. "Trust me, it'll pass."  
  
She gave me an odd look. "How long has this been going on?" she wanted to know.  
  
"A couple of weeks," I said. I looked down at my hands to hide the smile spreading across my face.  
  
I risked a glance up to see her raised eyebrow, the idea flashing through her eyes. And then I watched as sadness, and sympathy, replaced her initial thought.   
  
I knew what she was thinking; her face just then was an open book I could easily read. It had been painful for her too to learn I could never have children. Sure, she had grandchildren through Bill, but she knew how much I wanted a child, too. I knew she wanted to say something to that end, but she wouldn't. It was usually a subject we both avoided.   
  
I had to say something, and disclosure seemed the best option anyway. I met her eyes, and smiled. "Mom, I'm pregnant."  
  
Disbelief filled her eyes; it was becoming a theme. "But...how?" she stammered.   
  
"Surely you remember the birds and the bees," I couldn't help but grin. I shook my head. "I can't explain it, either." I shrugged. "I've been told I was sterile, but somehow..." my voice trailed off. "I'm pregnant."  
  
She jumped up and hugged me then, and the tears on her cheek mixed with the tears on mine.   
  
I felt her stiffen, and knew she had thought of something else. "But Fox..."  
  
She knew he was the only man in my life, knew with startling intuition that he was the only one for me. "The baby's his," I told her. "Before he was taken..." Once again my voice trailed off.   
  
She smiled then, a real smile that filled her eyes. It was that "I told you so" smile I knew I would see as soon as she found out.  
  
"I'm so happy for you," she whispered. "On both counts. I've waited for the day one of you girls told me I'd be a grandma. I spoiled Tera when we found out she was expecting, and now-"  
  
"Mom," I said, only a touch of fear in my voice.   
  
She grabbed my hand and my jacket, pulling me to my feet. "That's right," she smiled. "We're going shopping."  
  
I groaned, but couldn't bring myself to argue as she pulled me toward my car.   
  
**********  
  
When Mulder finally came home, I was almost six months along--obviously pregnant, especially given my small frame. I could tell he so badly wanted to ask, but there were too many people just then, and such a distance for us to bridge.   
  
I was antsy, waiting for any moment alone with him. There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to hold him so badly my empty arms ached.   
  
The distance between us was certainly an obstacle. He had been taken from me, but I always had hope he would someday be given back to me. When he was returned, and returned so brutally, I was crushed. It killed something inside me to have him gone, and gone so finally, without any real hope to hang on to. I was there when they put him in the ground. I was there when he was taken from me, irrevocably. Abduction was a final departure in the minds of most. So few were returned, but when we learned that those abducted around the same time Mulder was were being returned, that hope flared inside me. Even when the conditions of others didn't provide much hope for me to cling to, I still clung, with every fiber of my being, to the chance he would once again be with me.  
  
But death...death was something final, something I knew was irreversible. I was a doctor--death was my enemy even before it claimed family members, then my soul mate. I knew I would never accept his death fully. Even when hope was gone, ripped brutally from hands I held clenched around it, I knew there would never be anyone else. I could never feel anything near what I felt for him, and nothing in my life would ever come close to filling the void left deep in my psyche.   
  
And then death was reversed. I still don't understand that miracle, but then, miracles aren't to be understood, or explained. Miracles are to rejoice over, to embrace, to be grateful for, though gratitude is not nearly a strong enough word for how I felt at having him back, and well.   
  
But I didn't know how to bridge that space between us. There was no way for him to catch up on what he had missed, and I knew he felt that, too. He never got to be there through the majority of my pregnancy. He didn't get to feel the joy I felt when I first found out, though he would experience his own joy once I was able to tell him, when I could be alone with him long enough to tell him about everything.  
  
When we were alone in my apartment, we just stood apart, staring at each other, neither of us saying a word. I finally ran to him, wrapping my arms tightly around him as if I would never let go. And if I had my way, I would never have to. The moment his arms closed around me, I didn't think I ever could.   
  
I felt his hesitation, though, before he returned my embrace. He kissed my hair, then loosened his hold on me, putting enough space between us we could look at each other.   
  
He moved his hands from my shoulders, down to my swollen belly. "Scully," he whispered, so many questions in that one word.   
  
"Yes," I smiled, answering his first question, the one that I knew had caused his hesitation a moment before. "Of course it's yours."  
  
He kissed me then, almost bruising in his intensity. I clung to his waist, gathering fistfuls of his shirt in my hands as I kissed him back.   
  
He broke away and we both came up for much-needed air.   
  
"Really," I said, continuing to answer questions he hadn't yet voiced. "I love you."  
  
That seemed to be all he needed to know, as he took me in his arms and kissed me again.   
  
"I love you, too," he said when the kiss ended. "More than anything."  
  
At that point, we didn't care who knew. We didn't care if our whispered endearments carried through the darkness of night to waiting ears. Their knowledge or our feelings, of our involvement together was an ever-present fear, but one we couldn't much change. And as dangerous as it may be, it was something we both needed to say, an affirmation we both needed to hear.  
  
And as much as it was enough for me to hear that from him, I wasn't as sure it was enough for him. We needed to talk, to really talk, get a few things out in the open.  
  
I held his hand as I led him to my couch, and he sat down close beside me.   
  
"You have to know there could never be anyone else for me," I began. "That even though you were gone, that I had to try to believe you weren't coming back, that no one could ever take your place.  
  
"When you were first taken, I was devastated," I admitted. "But I still had hope to cling to." I paused here, unsure how he would feel about talking about his death.  
  
"Go on," he urged, still holding my hand.   
  
I smiled, and was so glad our communication, the way we knew each other, could answer unvoiced questions, was still intact. "When I learned you were gone, really gone, it killed something inside of me. A piece of me died then, and I didn't think that part of my heart would ever beat again. But when you came back..." I had to stop when tears threatened to spill over. I blinked, fighting them back.   
  
"Your life was given back to you," I whispered, my voice choked by unshed tears. "And I can't help but feel that my life was given back to me.  
  
"I've never said this, because we had an unspoken agreement not to, but you are my life. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You've made my life complete; you've made me complete. And I didn't know if I could live without you. I'm so glad I didn't have to test that theory."  
  
He leaned over and kissed me then, tenderly, a caress of his lips on mine.   
  
"There wasn't a day you weren't my every thought," he said. "As long as I was able to think, to remember, I could hold on. I lived only for the chance to see you again, to hold you again. And now that I have that chance, I never want to let you go."  
  
And then his mouth was on mine, greedy, demanding. My greed matched his, my hunger for his taste all-consuming.   
  
He cupped the back of my neck with one hand, holding me in place. As if I was going to go anywhere! His other hand moved to rest on my swollen stomach, a tender gesture in the midst of the all-consuming passion.   
  
I framed his face with my hands, memorizing the feel of his skin beneath my hands, the faint stubble that had grown since he shaved that morning, the smooth feel of the tiny scars still marring the perfection I had always seen in his profile.   
  
It felt so good, so right, simply to hold him again. It was enough that he was back. A bonus that I could look at him, that I could feel his hot gaze on me from across a room. But the chance I had to hold him in my arms, the gift I was given to be held in return, was perfection. There was nothing wrong in the world when I could hold him and be held , too.  
  
But I was greedy enough to want more. To want to wrap his my naked body around his, to feel that affirmation of life, of love as he filled me the way no one ever had, or ever would again.   
  
I poured my need into my kiss, my tongue tangling with his in an effort to take more, to give more, as I pressed my body even closer to him.   
  
He broke the kiss, and rested his forehead against mine. My breath came out in an uneven sigh. "I love you," I whispered.   
  
He brushed a lock of hair from where it had fallen across my cheek, and tucked it behind my ear. "You're everything to me," he said reverently, his voice low, his breath brushing across my skin, warm, real.   
  
He leaned in to kiss me again, and I certainly didn't mind. I couldn't get enough of him, knew I might never be able to. Lucky for us, we had the rest of our lives to try.   
  
**************************************  
  
I pushed him back on the couch, lying down beside him, never breaking the contact of his lips against mine. I trailed my hand over his chest, my other hand running through his hair. As much as I found that contact wonderful, I wanted more, so much more. I trailed my hand down his chest, over his stomach, under the sweater he wore to feel the warmth of the skin I found beneath.   
  
Lying half on top of him made removing his sweater difficult, so I made do with the skin I could reach, knowing that I could touch him, knowing there would be more to come later. Much more, if I had my way. And believe me, I wanted to have my way with him.   
  
It wasn't just the sex, though I would admit to wanting that, too. Mulder was the first man I had slept with in years; he had awakened urges in me long dormant. And being pregnant, well, the fluctuating hormone levels made me miss that contact, too. But it was more than that, so much more. I wanted the intimacy, the affirmation he was back, the celebration of life.  
  
He stopped my hand against his chest, right over his heart. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked, knowing already by my kisses, by my response to him, where I wanted this to go.   
  
"Of course," I whispered in between kisses. "I waited my whole life for that first time with you. And I've waited an eternity for this time with you."  
  
It seemed the right thing to say, as he crushed his lips against me.   
  
"Would you mind if we moved this party to the bedroom?" I murmured against his lips.   
  
"I thought you would never ask," he answered.  
  
"You don't mind this?" I asked. "Are you sure you're ready?"  
  
"Scully, I was born ready for you. You are all I want. I just want to make sure you'll be okay, that the baby-"  
  
"The baby will be fine," I interrupted him with a smile. "Trust me. We'll have to adapt a little, but we're good at that, aren't we?"  
  
"Right," he smiled. "Have I told you how beautiful you look? How you glow, how alive you look like this?" he asked, his hand once again resting over the baby I carried.  
  
Tears filled my eyes as I shook my head.   
  
"You do. You are," he whispered tenderly.   
  
It was my turn to smile at the look of awe that filled his face as the baby within me kicked, a small flutter just where his hand was. A tiny, delicate feeling I knew he felt.  
  
It was the first real connection he had to the life we had both created. His first contact with the child growing in me.  
  
The miracle of it lit his face, made him blink back tears of his own at the miracle he could now feel.   
  
"I love you," he whispered. "Both of you."  
  
And we laughed, the joyous sound filling the room as the baby again made it's first greeting to daddy.   
  
"Come to bed with me," I said, standing, pulling him with me. "Make love with me."  
  
He kissed me as I led him down the hall, into my bedroom, where I stopped by the bed, where he ended the kiss.  
  
We undressed each other slowly, tenderly in the silence, memorizing the changes each of our bodies had gone through in our time apart. His was thinner, but no less beautiful to me. I knew my body had changed, as well, beyond just the swell of my womb. My body was softer, my breasts fuller, heavier with pregnancy.   
  
At last we were naked before each other, and I closed the distance between us, pressing warm flesh against warm flesh, exulting in the feel of him against me.   
  
He bent to kiss me again, and I wound my arms around his neck, holding him to me as I kissed him back.   
  
His hands weren't still on my skin; he seemed to need to caress every inch of me. His fingers glided gently down by back, to my hips, up to hold my breasts against his palms, to brush his thumbs across my sensitive nipples, which tightened under his touch.   
  
I moved my own hands down his back, across the smooth skin there, around to caress his chest, to play with the dusting of hair there, before he pulled me down to the bed with him.   
  
He rolled me until I was on my back, then proceeded to kiss every inch of skin, from my neck down. He lingered over my neck, my collarbone, before his mouth locked over my nipple, gentle sweeps of his tongue over the peak, gentle suction that sent waves of desire through me, until I thought I would overload from the sensation.   
  
He moved one hand down, over my stomach to my center, where I needed him most. He adjusted his position over me to accommodate the angle he needed, and I felt him, hard, ready against my thigh.  
  
Moving his hands over me in a gentle caress he found me wet, ready for him. When he pushed one finger inside me my back arched, a moan escaping my lips.  
  
I reached down, eager to show him the same torture he was showing me with every motion of his hand against me. I wrapped my hand around him, satisfied by the groan that touch elicited.   
  
He gasped as I brushed my thumb over the sensitive head, and he leaned up to kiss me again.  
  
"I want you inside me," I gasped.   
  
"How?" he asked, fully willing to let me lead this, unsure of the best position, given my pregnant state.  
  
Wordlessly I rolled him over, straddled him, then leaned to kiss him again, my body pressing his erection against his abdomen between us.   
  
I ground against him gently, and he arched his hips up toward me. I knew we couldn't last too long. I needed him inside me, and I knew he needed to be inside me just as badly.   
  
He cupped my breasts in his hands as they hung over him, as I rose up over him, positioning myself before lowering myself onto him, slowly, so slowly.   
  
My intent was not to torment either of us, though that was a delicious side effect. It had been awhile since he had been with me, and my body had changed. I needed to give myself a little time to adjust to a feeling I thought I would never have again.   
  
When he was fully inside me, when I could feel every inch of him perfectly, I paused, looking down at him through eyes shiny with tears.   
  
I reached down, clasping his hands with mine, linking his fingers through my own as I started to move, slowly at first, and he let me lead, let me set the pace before he joined in, matching my movements with thrusts of his own, until I could feel something growing large and overwhelming inside me. A power I couldn't hope to control, nor did I want to. A power I knew he shared, knew he felt too, as his own movements became erratic, signaling how close to losing control he was.   
  
I leaned over to kiss him again, keeping our hands linked on either side of him. The change in angle was just what I needed to send me hurtling over the edge, gasping my release, racking tremors through my body that brought his release on he waves of my orgasm.   
  
I moved to lie beside him, and he turned beneath me, not letting me go, not leaving my body, keeping that contact as I looked into his eyes.  
  
"Never leave me again," I whispered, the tears finally falling.  
  
He brushed the falling drips from my cheeks, kissing each in turn. "Never again," he promised. "I want to lie beside you every night for the rest of my life."  
  
"I can't bear to be apart from you," I admitted.   
  
"You won't have to be," he vowed. "This is you and I," he reminded me. "Nothing can keep us apart. Not even death."  
  
And I knew it was true, as I drifted off to sleep in his embrace, all I needed right at my fingertips. He had conquered death to come back to me, and no one, nothing, would ever separate us again.  
  
**************************************  
  
END 


End file.
